


Rising Action

by Dredfulhapiness



Series: Feel Good Inc. [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Iron Fam, Irondad, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: A single tweet sparked the rumors.User @Spideyupdates7632 said, “What are the chances Spider-Man was in Washington because someone he’s dating was there? It would explain why he was so quick at the Washington monument.”Peter just has to hope that people don't actually think he's dating Spider-Man. He also has to hope that the William Cecil Clayton-type doesn't actually kill him. Really, it's just a normal week in New York City.
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Series: Feel Good Inc. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730050
Comments: 22
Kudos: 612
Collections: Peter Parker's Tales





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by an anon on Tumblr!

A single tweet sparked the rumors.

User @Spideyupdates7632 said, “What are the chances Spider-Man was in Washington because someone he’s dating was there? It would explain why he was so quick at the Washington monument.”

MJ tagged Betty, immediately asked, “@brantnewday What are the chances it’s @Spideyfanno1 ?”

Flash responded, “I would be HONORED to date Spider-Man #hitmeup”

@Leedstheway said, “Hope he sees this, man”

Within an hour, it was trending in New York City. Within three hours, it was trending nationwide. 

For no good reason, the world needed to know who Spider-Man was dating. 

\--

The machete stuck in the wall just a quarter of an inch above Peter’s head. 

“What is  _ wrong  _ with you?” He aimed his webs at the Hunter’s face and quickly scrambled out of the way. He took off running down the hallway.

When he’d woken up that morning, he hadn’t expected to have to fight a cartoon character. 

(Then again, he should have, because the Hunter had publicly challenged him two weeks prior. Harley had been the one to point it out, turning his laptop so Peter could see the news broadcast he’d been watching. 

“This dude says he’s gonna hunt you down,” Harley said when Peter looked at him in confusion. 

The guy in question dressed like Tarzan if Tarzan had been raised by one of the Cheetah girls: a leopard print vest with a furred collar, puffy brown pants, long hair. Peter made a face. 

“For what? Some fashion advice?”

“Don’t act like your suit is all that stylish,” Harley warned. “Red and blue?”

“I’m patriotic!” 

Harley raised an eyebrow. Peter sighed. 

“Yes,” he conceded. “I know-- what’s this dude’s deal?” 

“He’s a big game hunter, apparently. He just got to America.” 

“I don’t have an issue taking down a poacher, I just don’t get why he wants to take me on so bad.” 

“It sounds like--” Harley handed one of his headphones over to Peter, “he wants to kill you.”)

So, really. Peter should have seen this coming. Something came flying toward him. A table, maybe. Peter scrambled out of the way. 

He was nearing the window they’d burst in through. (The window that had scratched Peter’s back up, but that was a problem for later). His head was pounding where the Hunter had landed a hit. 

The Hunter reached an arm out, just inches from Peter’s neck, and Peter lept.

He got out of the building by the skin of his teeth. The broken window tore at his suit. He tripped as his feet hit the pavement, but before his face could make contact with the ground he was pulling himself up by a web. 

He didn’t look back.

It wasn’t often that Peter fled from a fight, but he’d been playing tag with this guy for nearly an hour and a half and even with his super-stamina, the fatigue was getting to Peter. 

Peter got home, took off his suit, and fell into bed without any regard for the cuts covering his body or the possible concussion.

\--

“Dude, are you alright?” Ned asked when Peter collapsed into the seat beside him. “You look awful.”

Peter’s injuries had mostly healed, but there was still a ringing pain in his head. He’d slept through the night (nearly slept through his alarm, too), but he still felt exhausted. The scratches on his back itched.

“Weird day yesterday,” Peter said, “I’ll tell you about it later.” 

Ned offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s because of the Twitter thing, isn’t it?” 

Peter blinked. “What Twitter thing?” 

“You didn’t see? You’re trending.” 

Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket at lightning speed. Sure enough, there was a picture of Spider-Man at the top. The caption: “The public speculates Spider-Man’s relationship status.” 

“Uh,” Peter started just as MJ popped her head over his shoulder.

“I think it’s Flash,” she said. She slid into the seat next to Peter. “It makes sense. He’s in love with Spider-Man anyway,  _ plus  _ Spider-Man saved us in DC.”

Peter shot a glance at where Flash was sitting in front of him. 

“I’m sure that was just a coincidence,” Peter said. He scrolled through his timeline. Pictures of Spider-Man talking to civilians, theories, accounts dedicated to figuring out who Spider-Man is dating. He was warm under the collar. “I’m sure that heroes have to take business meetings or whatever. It probably has nothing to do with  _ dating  _ or whatever--” 

“Oh,” MJ said over Peter’s head, “It’s Peter.” 

“What?” Betty and Peter asked at the same time. 

“Dating Spider-Man,” MJ clarified. She took the water bottle that Betty was holding out to her. 

Peter choked.  _ “What?”  _ He repeated. “No I’m not!”

“Parker?” Flash looked back. “Of course he’s not dating Spider-Man. He’d never make time away from his  _ precious internship.” _

“Thanks,” Peter said, half-hearted. “Thanks, Flash.” Peter put his phone face-down on his desk. “I’m obviously  _ not  _ dating Spider-Man.” 

“Then are you Spider-Man?” MJ asked. 

Peter coughed into his elbow. Ned patted him on the back. 

“You’ve seen him in gym class, right?” He asked. “No offense, man.”

Peter waved him off. “None taken.”

MJ shrugged. “Then you must be dating him.” 

“If Parker is dating Spider-Man I’ll eat my Gucci hat,” Flash said. 

MJ looked up from where she was typing on her phone. “Sounds like it’d be pretty dry.”

“He’ll have to salt it,” Betty agreed. MJ held her phone out for Betty to see over her shoulder. Betty snorted into her fist. 

MJ closed her phone and slid it into her pocket. Peter’s phone buzzed. He flipped it over.

“MJ,” He said, staring at the screen. “Why?” 

He held her phone out to her. She’d simply tweeted: “Figured it out. @falconmillenial is definitely Spider-Man’s boyfriend”

She shrugged. Peter shoved his phone into his backpack at the sound of the bell.

By the end of third period, Peter’s name was trending right alongside Spider-Man’s.

\--

Peter pulled the lab door open with so much force that it made the hinges bleat. 

Harley whirled around. When he saw Peter, his face lit up. “Hey!” he said, practically giddy, “It’s Spider-Man’s boyfriend!” His eyes twinkled, he turned to keep facing Peter even as Peter pointedly walked past him.

Peter did groan, though. “Don’t,” he said (begged). “It’s the only thing I’ve heard all day.”

(By lunch, Peter had been the talk of the school. Whether or not they were taking it seriously he couldn’t tell, but it didn’t stop the onslaught of jokes. Disbelief. The guy who lost regularly at kickball was dating New York City’s latest savior? 

By second-to-last period, Twitter had already put together the fact that Peter was a Stark intern and that Spider-Man worked closely with Tony. When the final bell rang, they’d confirmed that Peter had gone on the DC trip. 

Peter’s phone was blowing up. He gained over a thousand followers in such a short amount of time that he’d had to make his account private just to get through class without causing a disruption.)

“Do you think you could introduce me?” Harley leaned on the table, closer to Peter. “I’m his  _ biggest fan,  _ and since you have a connection…”

“Which people shouldn’t even know,” Peter reminded Harley. He leaned over and pecked him on the lips in greeting. 

“It’ll blow over in a few days,” Harley said. “You’re not  _ that  _ important.” 

“What if it doesn’t?” Peter fretted. He picked up a wrench. “Plus-- don’t you think it’s weird? Like, doesn’t it bother you?”

Harley raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I’m jealous of you?” he asked. “Because: no. I think I could take the competition.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “No,” he corrected, “Doesn’t it bother you that people are suddenly prying into my life? What if they start asking  _ how  _ I know Spider-Man?” 

“You’re a Stark intern, Pete.”

“What about when we go public?” Peter pointed between them.

_ “We  _ can’t go public until you aren’t seemingly employed here,” Harley pointed out, “which is  _ at least  _ another year. I’m sure you could stage a breakup by then.”

Peter sputtered. “Are you suggesting I fake a relationship… with myself?”

“With  _ Spider-Man,”  _ Harley corrected. “Not with yourself, that would be weird.” 

_ “That  _ would be weird?” Peter rolled his eyes and pointed at Harley with the wrench. “Do you hear yourself?”

Harley shrugged. “Then keep denying it,” he said. “People will just ask more questions.” Harley took the wrench and put it down on the table. 

“People are asking questions  _ now.”  _

When Tony walked in, Harley, gleeful, announced, “Peter’s dating Spider-Man!” 

“I see you’re taking the Emma Watson dating route,” Tony said. 

Peter groaned. “I’m not dating Spider-Man!”

“Obviously,” Tony said. 

“I should deny it.” Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket. Harley plucked it from his hand.

“That’s a great way to make people more suspicious,” Tony said. 

“Told you,” Harley said. Then, “Is your lock screen Luke Skywalker in a poncho?”

“Yes.” Peter turned his attention back to Tony, “Is there anything I can do? I hate people connecting me to Spider-Man--”

“You can sit back and let it pass,” Tony said. “Both of your alter egos are public figures right now and all you can hope is that some actor says something racist this week so the public will forget about you.” 

“But--”

“Or we could hire an escort to fake date Spider-Man,” Tony said. 

Peter bit his tongue. “Fine.” He pulled at the collar of his sweatshirt. “I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Then, “Why is it so hot in here?”

Tony shrugged. “Something about it improves work ethic. Pepper’s idea.”

Peter pulled his hoodie over his head. 

“Hey--” Tony said, and the same time Harley pressed his cold fingers against Peter’s back, under where his shirt had ridden up.

“What the hell happened?” Harley asked, and it took Peter a second to realize he was talking about where his back had been sliced to ribbons the night before. Well, that, and the fact that, despite having healed a lot, it still stung when Harley touched them. He hissed and pulled away. 

“I went through a window,” he said, pulling his shirt back down. 

“Were there no doors?” Tony asked. 

“I got thrown through a window,” Peter corrected. “That hunter guy showed up last night.”

“The one who wants to kill you,” Harley clarified. 

“Yep.” They were both staring at Peter, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. “What?” 

“And you didn’t tell us this  _ why?”  _ Tony demanded. 

Peter shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he said. “People try to kill me all the time.”

_ “Not  _ the point,” Harley said. 

“I fell asleep,” Peter defended, putting his arms out. “He packs a punch and I had school in the morning. I’m really fine.” He wiggled his arms and legs. “See? Everything is working, nothing’s creaking, and I only have a little bit of a headache-- But I think that’s because you just had this place sprayed for bugs.”

Harley blinked. “How--”

Peter pointed to the edge of the room. “Bad mojo in those corners.”

And, okay, maybe the headache was actually from a residual concussion, but the tower  _ had  _ just been sprayed and Peter could feel it in his chest. 

“I’ll let you know if I need help,” he said. “I promise. Now can we  _ please  _ get some actual work done so I don’t have to think about the fact that everyone is shipping Jekyll with Hyde.” 

“Shipping?” Tony asked. 

“Mmm,” Harley said, “Let’s not.” He cleared the workbench. “Friday, pull up the plans I’ve been working on for that new Spider-suit.”

\--

Peter was getting real sick of four things. 

  1. He was sick of both of his twitter accounts constantly blowing up. 
  2. He was sick of how much homework his teachers kept assigning.
  3. He was sick of running into Kraven the Hunter.



“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Peter demanded, and staved off the urge to do a Tik Tok dance. He bounced off the wall, jumped over the hunter’s head. “You haven’t even committed a crime-- I mean, other than big game hunting and attempted murder, but-- I would have minded my own business, man!” 

“Joke all you want, Spider,” he said, not backing off. “Rest assured, I will defeat you.”

“Another thing,” Peter said, lifting up a chair and flinging it at Kraven’s head. “Who talks like that? I get that you’re Russian or whatever--”

If Peter’s life didn’t seem to be a living comic book, he would have been surprised at how he chopped the chair in half in the air. But, seeing as this was a literal life and death situation Peter didn’t have time to be impressed. He’d save that for later, in the safety of his own room. 

Peter rounded the corner. “But what’s with the flair for the dramatic?” He heard his suit tear before he even felt the brush of metal against his back. The pain didn’t come. Or, maybe he hadn’t registered it yet, but he could feel air where his suit had been ripped along the shoulder-blades. 

“I don’t like banter,” the Hunter warned him. Peter tried to web the sword out of his hand. He missed. “It takes time I could be using to kill you.” 

He turned another corner into the hallway. He tucked himself, abruptly, into a closet. 

“Karen,” he whispered, searching along the edges of the wall for an air vent, “can you get me a blueprint of this building?”

“Of course, Peter.” 

“You’re hiding,” he heard Kraven boom from the other side of the door. “I thought you’d be more respectable than that.”

Peter’s eyes scanned the blueprints. The vents looked too small to fit in. They were high enough up that the windows didn’t open. 

He sounded, though, like he was also in the closet.

“You may as well come fight me like a man.” 

All of the vents were connected, Peter realized, and there was one in the closet. Peter worked his way up the wall, called into the grate, “you really shouldn’t say that, man, it’s pretty sexist!” 

He heard Kraven pause. Peter’s voice had come from the vents in the hallway. 

“I can smell you, Spider,” Kraven growled. “I don’t fall for tricks.”

And, sure enough, Peter could hear him sniffing. It was quiet for a second, and then the door to the closet was thrown open. 

“Hey!” Peter scolded. “If I’m in the closet that’s  _ my  _ business.” 

“Are you going to fight me or are you going to cower?”

“Seriously,” Peter said.  _ “What  _ is this schtick?” 

The sign for the stairwell caught his eye, just beyond Kraven. He could zip up and buy himself some time. He’d have time to think. 

“If it’s jealousy,” he started, “I can teach you how to be cool like me!” 

He aimed his web again and yanked. A picture flew off the wall behind Kraven and nailed him in the head. While he was dazed, Peter took off running. 

This time, Peter felt the blade. Right below his rib, it felt more like he’d gotten a paper cut than anything else. He burst through the door to the stairwell and webbed his way to the top.

The roof to the door was locked. Peter threw himself against it once, twice, three times before it finally slammed open. He went flying. Where there should have been a roof there was a lip and then air. Peter felt like a cartoon character. His legs moved uselessly. Time always seemed to move slower when Peter was falling, but now pain was setting in and the ground was so close, and instead of catching himself Peter hit the ground from ten stories up. His chest hit first, then his head. 

He lay dazed.

The pavement under Peter was hard and cold and wet from the afternoon’s rain. He couldn’t linger here for too long. It was only a matter of time until Kraven rounded the corner or descended upon him like some kind of hawk, but the breath had left his lungs when he’d landed and his side was screaming in pain. 

  1. He was tired of falling from buildings.



“Karen,” he gasped out when he finally could. “Call Happy.” 

She didn’t respond.

“Karen,” he tried again. 

Nothing. He’d broken her. 

Peter fumbled for his phone. He couldn’t find it. 

He couldn’t show up to a hospital. Going to a hospital meant attaching a name and a face to Spider-Man, and that would mean the end of Spider-Man (the risk wasn’t worth it. May, Ned, his classmates. Spider-Man put them all in danger). 

He felt like he was buried under rubble again. No fancy suit, no one to help him. He had no phone, no Karen, and no way to get medical attention for his wound. 

He did, however, know that MJ lived two blocks away. 

It took him longer than it should have to realize that this is the alley he’d gotten changed in. Wincing, he pulled his shirt over his head. He threw his hoodie on over it.

Peter stepped in his pants and bit his free hand to keep from crying out. 

He just needed to borrow her phone, he reasoned with himself as he aimed his shaky wrist at the roof of a building. He wouldn’t be telling her anything-- this wouldn’t be some big reveal. He’d just say he’d gotten mugged, or tripped into a construction site, or any number of believable lies and he’d call for help and get away unscathed. 

He gasped when the web yanked at his arm. Peter was no stranger to pain, but it’d been a while since he’d taken a good beating and he was rusty (haha, rusty, like blood). 

He was also getting light-headed. He didn’t think the wound was very deep (he wouldn’t still be standing- er, swinging- if it had been), but it was in a bad spot and bled when he moved. 

He nearly ran into the fire escape. Clumsily, Peter threw his hand out and grabbed the railing. With a groan, he pulled himself up and over. 

To his relief, MJ’s bedroom light was on. 

When Peter banged on MJ’s window, he heard her stifle a scream. When she whirled her desk chair around, she froze for one second, then another, processing the fact that there was a face in her window and then processing that it was Peter’s face in her window. 

She crossed the room and slid the window open. 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. 

“I need your help,” Peter managed through grit teeth. “Can I--”

She stepped back and he inelegantly draped himself over the windowsill and dropped into the carpet. Her eyes widened.

“Peter, what--”

“Can I use your phone?” he asked, one hand still clutching at his side. “I need to make a call.”

“You’re hurt,” MJ said dumbly, her gaze falling to where blood was seeping through his t-shirt. 

“I know,” Peter said. “That’s why I need your phone.”

“Uh,” MJ said. “Right. You--” without taking her eyes off of Peter she fumbled on her nightstand and yanked off her phone, cord and all. “Are you calling nine-one-one? I can call for you--” 

Peter shook his head. “I’m not-- can I please--” He reached his free hand out toward her. “Quickly.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Of course. Duh. Ambulances cost way too much money to justify calling and I’m going to stop talking now.” 

Peter was grateful May had made him memorize phone numbers as a kid. He just hoped, with how airy his head felt and how useless his fingers were, that he was actually calling the right number.

It rang for a cycle. Another. Halfway through the third ring, Peter heard a click. 

“Hello?” It sounded like he was eating something. 

“It’s me,” Peter said. “Need your help.” He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He could hear MJ moving around the room. 

“Where are you?” Harley asked, and Peter could hear him moving, too. “What do you need?” 

“Stitches,” Peter said. “At MJ’s.”

“I don’t know where-- You know what? I’ll find it.” Peter heard the jangle of car keys. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Do you want me to stay on the line?” 

“Hands free driving,” Peter scolded weakly. “Come up the fire escape.”

“Hang in there, Pete,” Harley said. “I’ll be there soon.” and Peter could  _ feel  _ the reluctance when he hung up. 

Peter put the phone on the ground next to him and took in a deep breath. This had  _ not  _ been his plan for the night. He was expecting a few robberies and then a chance to (finally) play the copy of Red Dead Redemption 2 that May had gotten him for his birthday. Instead he was bleeding on MJ’s carpet. 

“I’m really sorry,” MJ said, and suddenly she was so close to Peter, just inches from his face. Peter’s eyes snapped open. “This is going to hurt a lot.” 

“Wh--” Peter started, but he found himself grabbing at her hands when she reached for the hem of his shirt. “Don’t-- my boyfriend’s on his way,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to--”

“If this is because you don’t want me to see your spider costume, this really isn’t the best time,” MJ snapped. 

Peter froze. “What?” Peter breathed. “I’m not--” Peter’s hands must have gone as slack as his jaw, because she pulled his T-shirt up with no issue. MJ was face-to-face with the torn remains of his suit. She didn’t even blink, just pressed a rag to the gash along Peter’s side. 

He stifled a yelp into his hand. “How did you figure it out?” he gasped out. 

“You disappeared in DC,” MJ said, pressing down on the wound. She looked like she felt bad. “You’re so weird when we bring up Spider-Man--”

“I’m not weird.”

“You’re pretty weird, Peter. You’re constantly running off, and after news reports of Spider-Man getting his ass kicked you always had some kind of bruise the next day.” 

“How long?” Peter asked. MJ shrugged. “Since DC.” 

“Who else knows-- OW!” He pulled away from where she’d applied more alcohol to his wound. She put a hand (the one that wasn’t covered in his blood, thankfully) over his mouth. 

“Shh, my parents will hear you.” Then, “As far as I know, I’m the only one who’s figured it out.”

He nodded. The pained expression mostly faded from his face. She took her hand away. “And the whole ‘Spider-Man’s boyfriend’ thing?”

Despite the situation, she smirked-- such an MJ expression of love and mocking and joy, and Peter wanted to hug her. He hadn’t realized how much it had sucked to keep this from her. Or even how much he’d  _ wanted  _ to tell her. But now, sitting in her room, one hand gripping the carpet for something to hold on to, watching her anxious-but-surely handle a situation with ease… She was MJ. Why  _ hadn’t  _ he told her already?

“I was having fun.” And the urge to hug her went mostly away, but the love stayed. “It bothered Flash.” 

“TMZ picked up the story,” he accused. 

“Wow,” she said, “a tabloid that usually lies! Everyone’s going to believe that!” 

“Not the point.” 

“Now, this  _ real  _ boyfriend,” MJ said. “It’s Johnny Storm, isn’t it?” 

Peter squinted at her, sure that the lack of blood was officially getting to his head. “What?”

“You know, the Human Torch.” 

“Are you some kind of closeted superhero nerd?” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“I heard the Fantastic Four turned you down,” she said instead of answering. 

“That’s not true at all,” Peter said, “I never asked to join them--  _ I  _ turned the  _ Avengers  _ down.”

“That’s not what TMZ said.” Peter groaned and rolled his eyes. She managed a shaky laugh. “Then tell me the truth.”

“Can we talk about this when I’m not bleeding out on your carpet?”

She lifted up the rag and breathed a sigh of relief. “It looks like it’s mostly stopped bleeding.”

Peter scoffed a laugh. It hurt. He appreciated it. “His name’s Harley,” he said. “He’s one of the junior engineers at Stark.”

“He’s the one who gave us that tour,” she clarified, and Peter nodded. “You met him at work?” MJ folded the bloody rag over the windowsill and pressed a fresh one against his injury. She reached behind her and grabbed a roll of tape. “To keep pressure on it. This will hurt, too.”

“Kind of,” Peter said. “He’s living with Tony right now, I met him there. He was working on an Iron Suit. He’s from Tennessee--”

“Country boy,” MJ said under her breath, “I loooove you.” 

Peter ignored the Vine reference.

“How do you know how to- how to do this?” 

“Peter, we had a whole class on first aid. Lift up your arms.” She brought the tape around him as carefully as possible. 

“I don’t think I went to that,” he said. 

“Why, were you too busy  _ getting  _ first aid?” 

“Probably.” Maybe it was just because the lack of blood was making his vision hazy, but MJ was absolutely glowing under lamplight and in her pajamas. She was a little different, right now, than she was in decathlon. She wasn’t fighting to prove her worth. She wasn’t being snarky for the sake of looking better. She was just being MJ.

“Hey,” Peter opened his mouth to add. “I really appreciate--” His head perked up. Outside, he could hear the faint sound of tires on the road. “He’s here,” he said, relieved. Peter pulled himself up to a standing position, MJ steadied him with an arm. She didn’t look secure in his footing. 

“I’ll help you down,” she said, but he shook his head. “I can get it,” he said. “Thank you,” he added, managing to get one foot through the window. “And can I just ask--”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said, one hand still cautiously on his shoulder. “Go get medical attention, Spider-Man.” 

Peter smiled. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“First period,” she agreed.

Getting down wasn’t nearly as hard as Peter expected. The main reason for that was that he slipped off the ladder. The good news is that, despite being injured, spiders usually land on their feet (except for when they don’t and they break their very expensive tech). By the time he realized he’d fallen, Harley was already there with an arm under Peter’s armpit and the other arm around Peter’s waist. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Peter said, but Harley didn’t laugh, just readjusted Peter so he could open the door to the back seat. 

“It’s not too deep,” Harley assured when he finally had Peter laying across the back seat of the car. “A few stitches should get you fixed up. “You ready?” 

“Do I have another option?” Peter asked. 

“Bleeding out.” Harley pulled the first aid kit out from under the seat. He pushed Peter’s shirt up. “Was this--”

“Evil Steve Irwin? Yep.” He looked away as Harley threaded the needle. 

“Even if Steve Irwin was evil he wouldn’t kill animals,” Harley said. “I’m gonna start.”

Peter winced as the needle went in. “You didn’t tell Tony, did you?”

“Yeah,” Harley said, “That’s what I wanted to deal with right now-- him freaking out.” But Peter could hear his voice shaking, too.

“I’ve had way worse,” Peter said to the roof of the car. “One time a train--”

“Please don’t tell me about the ways you’ve almost died,” Harley said. There was an edge to his voice that Peter had never heard before. Then softer, “not right now.”

“Right,” Peter said. “Sorry. Do you want to grab a smoothie after this? I could use a smoothie. And a burger. Do you want a-- YOUCH-- burger?” 

“Just a few more,” Harley said. “What did he cut you with?”

“Some kind of sword,” Peter said, digging his fingers into the seat. “Jesus, why is it always sharp objects? I’ll take blunt force trauma over cuts any day.” 

“We need to make you a better suit,” Harley said, taking the torn pieces of cloth between his fingers.

“We need to make me  _ a  _ suit,” Peter corrected. “Mine are destroyed.”

Harley stopped sewing to look at Peter’s face. “What happened to your other two suits?” he asked. 

“Kraven,” Peter said. 

“You’ve ruined two suits in a week and you didn’t tell me?” Peter couldn’t tell if the despair on Harley’s face was because of the destroyed tech or out of concern.

“Three,” Peter corrected, motioning to his body. Then quickly, “I was planning on fixing them myself. Tomorrow-- I didn’t know I was going to have  _ another  _ run-in with the guy.” 

“I just made you this one  _ yesterday.”  _ Harley sounded genuinely distressed. “Seriously, Peter?”

“I know,” Peter said, wincing. “I’m really sorry, but Karen’s not working. The system must be down.”

“I’m bringing you back to the towers,” Harley said. He pulled Peter’s shirt back down and pinned the needle into the ceiling of the car. 

“What?” Peter asked, because the only thing he wanted to think about right now was his bed and something greasy to eat. “Why?”

“Because you’ve broken all the things I made for you,” Harley said, unamused. “Which means you’re unprotected if Joe Exotic comes after you again.” He handed Peter his phone. “Let May know where you’re gonna be.” 

\--

Peter fit perfectly under Harley’s arm. Harley worked decently as a crutch. Peter wrapped his arm around Harley’s shoulder, still trying to shake off sleep from the car ride. 

“Friday,” Harley said as soon as they crossed the threshold into the Stark residence. “Can you get Tony up?” 

“Wait,” Peter said, “Don’t do that! I’m fine.”

“You’re being hunted,” Harley said, “and your main source of transportation seems to be defenestration so I need you to sit down so we can talk about this before you go back out on the street as Spider-Man.”

Despite his tone, Harley helped him gently onto a lounge seat. 

“He’s already awake,” Friday said. Harley checked his watch and rolled his eyes. “I can get him for you.”

“Please,” Harley said. He reached into the fridge and tossed Peter a bottle of apple juice and a cookie. He only seemed to realize the blood on his hand when he saw it flake off onto the fridge. He pulled back as if startled. 

“Harley--” Peter started, already opening the bottle of apple juice. “I think you should--” but he never got a chance to finish.

When he’d been woken in the middle of the night, Tony couldn’t have been expecting a pleasant sight, but his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he walked out to find Harley washing blood off his hands and Peter looking paler than usual. He pointed to Peter. 

“You didn’t do this to him, right?” he asked Harley. 

Harley rolled his eyes. “No, a lunatic with a machete did. And guess who’s out of suits.” 

“How are you out of suits?” Tony whipped his gaze back to Peter. “You have  _ three.”  _

“Look,” Peter said. “I have a very physical job--”

“You sure get stitches like it’s your job,” Harley supplemented. 

“I’m sorry I got hurt stopping crime,” Peter said. Harley’s attitude seemed too offensive. Too sharp. Peter was too tired to take it in stride.

“Getting your ass needlessly kicked isn’t stopping crime,” Harley shot back. There was something to his voice that Peter didn’t recognize. Something sharp and halting. 

Peter didn’t back off. “It does when it’s attempted murder.” 

“Both of you--” Tony put his hands out. “What the hell happened?” 

Peter sighed. “Don’t, like, freak out,” he said, “because it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Any time you start a sentence like that I have damn good reason to freak out,” Tony said. 

Peter grit his teeth, sighed, and told them about Kraven catching him by surprise while he was trying to stop a robbery. How he  _ still  _ seemed to have a leg up on Peter. How Peter couldn’t even seem to  _ hide  _ from him.

“It’s like he was sniffing me out,” Peter recalled. “I don’t smell  _ that  _ bad.” Harley looked unconvinced. Peter discreetly sniffed his armpit. Okay, he smelled a little bad, but that was most likely from the blood and sweat. 

“So, what?” Tony asked. “We need to make you  _ smell  _ different?” He seemed unconvinced. Or, maybe it was just because they were congregating in his living room at nearly one in the morning.

“We could pull him until we get this guy taken care of,” Harley suggested. In the brighter lights of the kitchen, he looked shaken and pale. Despite the fact that his hands were clean and dry, he kept running a dish towel over them. Peter turned his attention to Tony. He’d talk to Harley later. Tomorrow, probably. 

“No one’s benching me,” Peter said-- even if he couldn’t actually stand on his own right now. “Tony, can I just borrow that gross cologne you have?” 

Tony blinked. “I’m sorry?” 

“The one you wore to your anniversary dinner,” Harley clarified. 

“My cologne’s not gross,” Tony said. 

“Yeah, it is,” Peter said. 

“Pepper likes it.”

“No,” Harley said, “she doesn’t.” He dumped the towel onto the counter. “I can get to work on a new suit for you tomorrow,” he told Peter. “Cologne should hopefully be enough to get you to school and back here without any issues.”

“But I won’t have--”

“You shouldn’t be fighting anything tomorrow anyway,” Tony cut him off. 

“I heal fast,” Peter said.

“Not your call,” Tony said, stern. “School and back.” 

“But--”

“You’ve destroyed a shitton of my tech,” Tony scolded,  _ “Just this week,  _ and you’ve almost died doing it.”

“I didn’t almost die,” Peter argued. “I’ve had way worse.”

Harley winced. “Not helping your case, Pete,” he said. 

“Look, we’ll figure this out in the morning,” Tony said. “You look like shit and I’m not about to start an argument that could wake Pepper up.” He stood. “We’ll get you a new suit and some cologne and figure out how to get this guy off your back.”

“Oh, wait,” Peter said before Tony could round the corner. “There’s one more thing.”

Tony and Harley stared at him with matching expressions of dismay. 

“MJ knows about… the whole Spider-Man thing.” 

Tony buried his face in his hands. “Not tonight,” he said. “We’re not getting into that tonight. Just. Go to bed.”

\--

Harley helped Peter get into the bed. His forehead was a mess of worry lines. His teeth ground against each other. 

“Hey,” Peter said, words already slurring with exhaustion. The dark room and the soft bed were enough to nearly knock him out. The night had caught up to him. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Harley said, “of course.” 

Peter was pretty sure he was lying, but he was too tired to verbalize that. Instead, he burrowed into the pillow and mumbled some kind of response. He could ask Harley about it tomorrow. 

Harley leaned down and kissed Peter’s forehead, straightened his blanket a little bit. “Night, Pete,” he said. 

“Night,” Peter said. Then a slip of the tongue, “Love you.” 

Harley froze in the middle of standing upright. He looked down at Peter, mouth slightly ajar, eyes bugged. He closed his mouth. Blinked. His expression softened. “I love you, too,” he said. 

If Peter were more awake, he’d have realized that it was the first time either of them had said it. Instead, he was struggling to keep his eyes open, so when Harley backed away with a gentle, pained smile on his face, Peter didn’t think too hard about it. Half asleep, he’d simply said something that had been true for a long time. Awake, Harley was on the verge of celebrating.

When he left the room Peter noticed, barely, that instead of turning toward his bedroom he turned left. Toward the lab. Peter fell asleep. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he stretched, he felt the stitches in his side pull. 
> 
> He reached over for his phone and didn’t find it. It took him a beat, two, of staring at the end table to remember everything. 
> 
> Right. Kraven, MJ, stitches. Harley. 
> 
> Harley. They were going to have to talk about… whatever that had been last night. The image of Harley scrubbing his clean hands with a towel replayed in Peter’s mind. He could hear Harley’s sharp tone in his ear please don’t tell me about the ways you’ve almost died.

Peter woke with the taste of copper in his mouth. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus: his head hurt, his muscles were tight, there was an undeniable sting on his side. He sat up with a long groan. 

There was a glass of water on the bedside table next to a couple aspirin and a bottle of cologne. If Peter hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought he’d woken up hungover. 

When he stretched, he felt the stitches in his side pull. 

He reached over for his phone and didn’t find it. It took him a beat, two, of staring at the end table to remember everything. 

Right. Kraven, MJ, stitches. Harley. 

Harley. They were going to have to talk about… whatever that had been last night. The image of Harley scrubbing his clean hands with a towel replayed in Peter’s mind. He could hear Harley’s sharp tone in his ear  _ please don’t tell me about the ways you’ve almost died.  _

And then he remembered  _ I love you, too  _ and the panic receded just enough for Peter to get out of bed.

\--

Harley didn’t look like he’d slept. In fact, he was still wearing the same clothes he’d worn when he’d picked Peter up the night before. He stared at his phone with fervor. His lips were turned down into a frown. Even alone, he didn’t look peaceful. His shoulders were taut, he chewed with malintent.

It took him a few seconds to notice Peter in the archway. Immediately, his expression softened.

“Hey,” he said, already standing to cross the gap. “How are you feeling?”

“Perfect,” Peter said. “Great. Like nothing happened.” He was slightly bent over, though, nursing his hurt side. He waved away Harley’s concerned face. “I’ll be fine by the end of the day.” 

Harley’s arm, outstretched, lingered in the air for a moment. He let it drop to his sides. “Good,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced. “Your new suit’s getting stitched up now, it should be ready for you by the time you get back.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Did you get  _ any  _ sleep last night?” He asked, searching Harley’s face. 

“I’ll sleep after breakfast,” he assured. He blinked. Harley turned and grabbed his bowl of cereal off the table. He handed it to Peter. “Which you should eat, by the way, because you’re running late.” 

“Thanks,” Peter said. He dropped his backpack next to the table. He watched as Harley dug back into the fridge. “Hey, about last night…” 

“I’d really rather not,” Harley said quickly. He pulled back at his own tone. Winced. “Not right now, I mean.” He offered Peter a toothless smile over his shoulder. It looked more like he was grimacing. “I’m exhausted, and you’re in a rush--”

“Yeah,” Peter said. He swallowed. “Yeah, now might not be the best time.” 

He wanted it to be, though, because he hated whatever energy this was. It wasn’t hostile, or tense, it was just cumbrous. Like there was a boulder rolling down a hill behind him. 

But he did need to leave, and Harley hadn’t slept, and whatever problem they were having could wait until Peter was home.

“I should actually head out.” He leaned forward to give Harley a kiss, but Harley pulled away and made a face. 

“Not while you’re wearing that cologne,” he said. He managed a laugh. It still didn’t wipe the final traces of the glower from his face. “You smell like ass.” 

“Sometimes safety precautions are worse,” Peter said with a pout. He shoved the last spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into his mouth. “I’ll remember that next time you wear a helmet on your motorcycle.” 

“I look sexy with it on and you know it.” He was teasing, but his tone didn’t give it away. Peter swallowed. Harley poured himself another bowl of cereal. “Hey-- remember to come back here right after school. You don’t have a suit and there’s no way that cologne is going to smell like  _ that  _ all day.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Peter said. He must not have sounded convincing, because--

“This isn’t field day-- it’s an order.” Tony’s voice behind him startled Peter. He nearly dropped his bowl. A few drops of milk spilled onto the table. He whipped his head around to frown at Tony. “Don’t stop to talk to anyone, don’t take the scenic route-- don’t get detention.”

“Yes,  _ Dad,”  _ Peter mumbled. Harley snorted into his bowl of cereal. Tony gave him The Look. Peter raised his hand up. “Sorry! Sorry. Yes, I’ll come right back.” 

“We can’t contact you,” Tony reminded him. “If you don’t show up by three I’m sending out a search party.” 

“I’ll be here,” Peter promised. “But right now, I have to leave.” He grabbed his bag. 

“Three o’clock!” Tony called out as Peter headed out the door.

\--

“Look who’s walking.” MJ leaned against the locker next to Peter’s. Her face scrunched up. “What’s that smell?” 

“Cologne,” Peter said. “It’s not mine, it’s… it’s a long story.” 

“A longer story than why you showed up at my place last night?” MJ asked. 

Peter cringed. “It’s kind of the  _ same  _ story,” he admitted. “There’s--”

“Peter!” Five lockers down, Ned waved at him, eyes wide. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Can you just… come here?” Peter asked. “Like a normal person?” 

“It’s a little more lowkey than that,” Ned said, voice lower, still yelling.

Peter turned back to MJ, hands up in an apology. “I will explain,” he said. “I promise.” 

He made his way to Ned. “What’s up?”

“So you know that hunter guy that kicked your ass the other day?” 

Peter winced. Ned didn’t know about the prior night yet-- or that MJ knew. “Tragically.”

“He’s on the news.” 

Ned handed Peter one of his headphones and his phone.

“--Is a coward,” Kraven was saying. “You look up to him, but all he’s done is run. What kind of hero chooses avoidance?” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Great,” he said. “He wants to kill me. What else is new?” 

He moved to pull the headphone out of his ear, but Kraven’s next sentence stopped him. He looked directly into the camera, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. “I’ll make him wish he’d fought me like a man.”

Peter locked the phone. 

“We had another run-in last night,” he said as he handed Ned back his cell. “Didn’t end well.” 

“As poorly as you smell?”

“Out of pocket,” Peter said. “He’s sniffing me out.”

“So you have to smell like a forest fire in the middle of the ocean?” 

“Very descriptive. What was your SAT score again?” 

“But seriously.” Ned put a hand on Peter's forearm. “Are you okay?” 

“I’ve been better,” Peter said. “But I’ll live.”

The bell rang. Peter groaned. 

“I’ll tell you more at lunch, alright?” 

“If you live ‘til then,” Ned teased. Peter scoffed.

“Yeah, right.” Peter stopped in front of his classroom door and turned. He shot Ned finger guns. “Oh, and one more thing… MJ knows.” 

Ned’s jaw dropped. “You told her?” He asked. 

“Desperate times,” Peter said. “Turns out... she already knew.”

“Already knew?” 

“Move it.” Someone pushed past Peter. He moved, just slightly, out of the doorway. 

“She figured it out.”

“Damn,” Ned said. “Okay.” His face broke into a grin. “Another member of the team. Cool!” 

And Peter felt the love again, deep in his chest. The same as when MJ had made him laugh the night before, the same as when Harley had leaned over to kiss him goodnight, the same as when MJ had offered to drop some clothes off at school for him, or Tony (albeit rudely) explaining the adjustments he and Harley had stayed up all night to make to the new suit.

When Peter stepped into the classroom, it was dark. The lights were out, the shades were drawn. He made eye contact with Flash in the front row. Flash shrugged and motioned toward the desk. 

Mr. Harrington sat at the desk with his head in his hands. A pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. His cheeks were tinted green, his face was pale. Peter dropped his bag at his seat and made his way over. 

“Uh,” he said, “Mr. Harrington, are you--”

Harrington winced. He held a hand to his lips and shushed Peter. 

“We’re whispering today,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

“Um… okay,” Peter whispered. “I was just wondering if you were okay.”

“I’m just feeling a little under the weather today,” Harrington said, “Can you do me a favor and put the Stark press conference on? We’re watching it for class. And-- can you also take a few steps back? Your cologne is…  _ strong.” _

“Sure thing.”

When he handed Peter, the faded outline of a stamp was on the back of his hand. Peter stifled a laugh. 

He set the projector up and slid into his seat. Flash turned around to face him.

“Hungover?” He guessed. Peter nodded. 

“It’s Wednesday,” Flash said. Peter shrugged. 

“Maybe he has friends in town?” he suggested. Flash snorted and turned back forward.

It took a few minutes for the press conference to start. Peter spent them trying to get his life in order and pretending he wasn’t still trending. He could see Flash’s phone over his shoulder-- his twitter timeline was full of Spider-Man update accounts, and the Spider-Man update accounts were littered with his own face. Three days had to be a new record. That was longer than JFK’s funeral had been with only a sliver of the cultural impact. Not even that. Not even a crumb. God, he was tired. 

Peter hadn’t seen May since yesterday morning. He’d barely talked to Ned all week. Harley was… Mad at him? Upset, at the very least if the night before was indicative of anything. He’d introduced MJ to Spider-Man in the worst way possible. His name was still trending all over Twitter. Oh, and someone was trying to kill him. 

With all things considered, Peter mostly tuning the press conference out was hardly a crime. He knew what most of the upcoming projects at Stark were. He knew that Tony would be questioned the insane amount of anonymous grants that had just been awarded to MIT students. He knew Tony would deny involvement. He also knew Tony would be lying. Instead of watching, Peter worked on the Spanish homework that was due last Friday.

His verb conjugation (all  _ emos  _ and  _ amos  _ and  _ en _ ) was interrupted when he heard his own name. 

“Can you comment on the rumors that one of your interns is dating Spider-Man?” A reporter asked.

Tony scoffed. He tried to cover it up by clearing his throat. “And which intern would that be?”

“Peter Parker.”

His head shot up. In front of him, Flash tensed up. 

“I really don’t see what that has to do with the new generation of phones we’re releasing,” Tony said, already shifting his attention to a different quadrant of the audience altogether. “Yes, you.” He pointed. 

“Do you have  _ any _ comments about Spider-Man’s relationship status?” the next reporter asked.

“Yeah: I don’t ask about it.” Tony drummed his fingers on the podium. “Next caller.” 

“Are there legal repercussions for two of your employees dating?” The third reporter asked. Tony glared at him. 

He leaned in closer to the mic. “If Spider-Man worked for me, there could be. But seeing as he doesn’t, it’s none of my business if he spends his off hours with one of my interns. Now, are there any tech related questions or is this press conference over?” 

“So they…  _ are _ dating?” the same reporter followed up. Flash turned to stare at Peter. Peter kept his gaze trained on his notebook. 

\--

The rest of the day didn’t get much better. Peter fielded questions from strangers. He and Ned snuck into the band room to eat lunch. They squeezed themselves into one of the practice rooms and ate sandwiches off of the music stands. Peter pulled his legs up onto the piano bench. 

“This has gotten out of hand,” he decided, and Ned shrugged. 

“We could always make it seem like Spider-Man was dating someone else,” he suggested. “Like Ariana Grande. Or the Rock.”

“The Rock is married,” Peter said. He tossed a chip into his mouth. 

“We could say Spider-Man is dating me,” Ned offered. 

And Peter was grateful to have a ride or die, he really was. The issue was, “I don’t want the press prying into my life at all.” He pulled a chunk of his sandwich off with his fingers. “Even having public connections puts people in danger. I get that people want to talk about Spider-Man, but this…”

“You can’t do anything to stop the presses,” Ned said. “You’re not Jeremy Jordan.”

“I know. Going to Santa Fe sounds pretty nice right now, though.” Peter leaned back against the piano. “It’s just… been a rough week. I think Harley’s mad at me. Also, I told him I loved him last night, but I don’t think those two things are related.” 

“Did he say it back?” 

“I mean, yeah, but--”

“Then he can’t be  _ that  _ angry at you.” 

Peter wanted to agree, but he’d seen Harley angry before. He’d seen him mad at Tony-- all scathing words and quick wit and a hidden sense of betrayal. Mad at Captain America after Germany-- silent simmering, working nonstop, blueprinting until pencils broke and pages ripped. Mad at Happy-- eye rolling and mildly slammed doors, and love at the base of it.

And then there was this: an unfamiliar knot. All towel wringing and pleading and avoidance and  _ I love you.  _ It was unreadable. Peter feared it for that.

“He wouldn’t talk to me this morning,” he said. 

“Not at all?” Ned raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, he was  _ talking _ to me. Just not about last night.”

“Did he say why?” 

“He was tired and I was in a rush.” Peter rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“So… good reasons?” Ned looked at him pointedly. “I think you’re overthinking it.” 

“What if I’m not, though? What if he was just, like, being polite--”

“You think he told you he loves you just to be polite?  _ Harley?”  _ Ned leaned forward in his seat. “Peter, Harley is great but I don’t think he’s ever said a single thing ‘to be polite,’” He made air quotes around the phrase, “in his life. He just didn’t want to have that conversation this morning.”

“Yeah,” Peter conceded. “Probably.” 

The twisting feeling in his gut didn’t go away. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Harley to be honest with him, or even that he thought Harley didn’t  _ actually like him  _ it was just… Spider-powers don’t negate anxiety-- they just make it worse. 

He forced a smile. A grim one. “Now please give me some news that isn’t related to murderous furries or my alleged love life.”

“Taika Waititi is making the next Star Wars movie,” Ned offered.

“Finally,” Peter said in a terrible British accent, “Some good fuckin’ food.” 

\--

Peter was just nearly off school property when he saw MJ on her way to the subway station. 

He checked his watch. He was supposed to go right back to Stark right after school, and at this rate he was going to miss the first train back to Manhattan anyway. That gave him another thirty minutes to talk to MJ. 

He’d be cutting it close, but he should get back at exactly three o’clock.

“Hey!” Peter jogged to catch up to her. He felt a pull in his side, but nothing comparable to how it had felt the night before, or even in the morning. “Got a second?”

“Hey. You look healthy.” She shifted her backpack onto her other shoulder. 

“As a horse,” Peter agreed. Partially a lie. “Last night was really weird, and I’m really sorry I had to… if you need your carpet cleaned, I’m happy to do it, or pay for it.” 

“If none of the tips for getting blood out of carpet work, I’ll give you a call,” MJ said. “But until then, I think you have a story to tell me.” She looked at him, eyebrow raised. Peter gnawed on the inside of his lip. 

After a moment of hesitation, he told her about the threats made on the news and how he’d just ignored them because if he paid attention to every whacko in leopard print that tried to kill him he’d never have time to  _ exist.  _ He told her about the first close call and the window that had screwed up his back, and how he’d used the vents like tin cans on a string,and how it seemed like Kraven could smell him. (“So the cologne,” MJ interjected, “you weren’t just trying to be cool?”). And he told her about the plan, and the new suit that should be complete back at Stark, and how he really was healing up fine, he swears, and that MJ should come swinging with him some time. 

“And you just live like this?” MJ asked, but her judgement wasn’t negative. Her tone lilted with amusement. One side of her lip pulled up into a smirk. 

“Not normally,” Peter said. “It’s just been a long week.” 

It was more like every other week. They’d get there eventually. 

“When all of this is over, though, you and I should do something,” he said. “May has a whole list of women-owned businesses, we could make a whole day out of visiting them.” 

MJ tilted her head.

“Or, you know-- we could go see a movie or something,” he added. 

She smiled at him. Amusement turned to fondness. “The first plan sounds nice,” she said, and Peter thought about Ben telling him that he’d make more friends if he just tried  _ talking  _ to people. Then Peter realized he hadn’t thought about Ben in a while. Maybe it should have made him feel guilty, but it filled him with relief.

The moment was ruined when the hair on the back of Peter’s neck stood up, the first thing he did was turn and step in front of MJ. The second thing he did was take a fist to the eye. Actually, it wasn’t a fist. It was an open palm that had been reaching for him. Peter reeled back. One hand flew up to his eye as the pain registered, the other wrapped around the wrist of the hand that had gathered up the collar of his shirt.

It took him a second to recognize who he was staring at. It took another two seconds for him to realize that he couldn’t exactly start a fight right here in the middle of the sidewalk. There were people all around, and MJ was right behind him and he had nothing to hide his identity. 

“What the fuck?” He cried out, instead. 

“Peter!” 

“You’re coming with me, Peter Parker,” Kraven growled, and Peter’s feet were off the ground before he even got a chance to argue. It was like a cartoon, or a parody action movie, or the plot of some 13 year old’s English paper that was going to inevitably get them sent to the counsellor’s office because it was “concerning.” 

MJ’s hand wrapped around Peter’s wrist. Her nails dug in. “Get the fuck off of him!” She dug her heels into the concrete. She was pulled forward.

And his heart swelled, even as he pried her hand off of him. 

“Call Stark Towers,” he shouted as calmly as he could manage. “It’s fine.”

And it was. Annoying, sure. Scary for her, probably. But Peter wasn’t helpless without a suit. (Tony had taught him that). He just needed to wait until he was away from crowds. Kraven knowing he was Spider-Man wasn’t the worst thing that could happen right now, but revealing his identity to the entirety of the city was.

As she watched him pulled away, MJ dug in her bag for her phone. 

—

Peter wasn’t pouting. He was just waiting. Impatiently. On the top floor of a nearly-finished construction site. Everything around him, though built, was a dreary concrete. Brutalism at its finest. How fitting.

“For the thirtieth time,” he said to the back of Kraven’s head, “I’m not dating Spider-Man. I don’t even  _ know  _ the guy.” 

His normal politeness didn’t seep into his tone. 

“You smell like him.” Kraven looked over his shoulder at Peter. “You clearly spend a lot of time around him.” 

Peter bit his tongue. The cologne must be wearing off. He couldn’t even argue, either-- what was he going to say?  _ I smell like him because I am him, dipshit?  _ No, now he just had to sit here and wait until MJ got off hold with Stark Industries’ customer service. 

As it turned out, Peter was terrible at being the Damsel in distress. 

“What’s the endgame here?” Peter asked. “Grab someone who smells vaguely like Spider-Man and just  _ wait?”  _

“He’ll come,” Kraven assured, “and then I’ll kill him.”

“Oh, well when you put it like that it’s a  _ great _ plan.” Peter rolled his eyes.

_ This  _ was why he didn’t want people knowing his identity. He’d gotten lucky with locking Vulture up so fast, but what happened if Sandman decided attacking Peter got boring and went after May or Ned? No, thank you. Anonymity was key. He was content just being known as a Stark intern. 

Well, and also Spider-Man’s boyfriend, but he was less content with that. 

“Do you at least want to play cards or something to pass the time?” Peter tested his restraints. He could break them, easily, if he tried. They were just rope. It was clear that Kraven had really only planned on grabbing a scrawny science school kid. Breaking out would mean giving away more information than he was willing, however, so he decided to bide his time. “I’m the Midtown High School champion of Crazy Eights.” 

“I see why Spider-Man is dating you,” Kraven said. “You’re equally annoying.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“I don’t know how you want me to respond to that,” he admitted. “I’m so sorry our harmless American humor doesn’t translate well to Russian or whatever-- plus, I thought your whole thing was  _ hunting,  _ I don’t think hostages are really a part of hunting.”

“You’re the bait.” Kraven whipped around, machete in hand. Peter yelped, leaned as far back as his upper-body would allow against the back of the chair. He was face-to-face with the blade. “And the bait doesn’t need to be alive,” he warned. 

“Point taken,” Peter said. He tugged, again, at his restraints, half-hearted. 

He wasn’t scared. Not really. If he needed to, he could easily break through the ropes. Plus, he could make a break for it if he tried… not that he wasn’t tired of running. This was day three of this madness, Peter just wanted his name off of Twitter and for the man in leopard print to leave him alone. 

He’d give Tony twenty minutes. That seemed like a reasonable amount of time. He’d give twenty more minutes, and if he didn’t show up, Peter would risk outing himself as the hero Kraven clearly didn’t think he was, and go back home to call MJ and assure her he was  _ fine.  _

Twenty minutes.

It only took fifteen.

When the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight, Peter tipped the chair back just as Tony rammed a hole in the wall Koolaid-Man-style. Pieces of wall scattered at his feet and hit the bottom of the chair. Peter just barely avoided slamming his head on the concrete.

“Alright,” Peter heard Tony’s voice. “Hand over the intern.”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter popped his head up just in time to watch Spider-Man clumsily drop from Tony’s back. Peter blinked. “You made it!”

“Spider-Man,” Kraven said. “You brought company.” 

“He’s my ride.” Spider-Man pointed with his thumb at Tony. He was wearing Peter’s older suit, the one that was now on display, gutted, at Stark Industries. Or,  _ was  _ on display at Stark Industries because now Spider-Man was standing in front of Peter, wearing it. “Hope you don’t mind my Uber tagging along.” 

Tony turned his head to look at him. Even with the helmet on, Peter could picture the offended expression on his face.

Not-Spider-Man searched the room. He locked eyes with Peter. 

“What the fuck?” Peter mouthed. He held a hand out, like  _ trust me  _ and Peter wasn’t sure that he did. Not only was Harley, without powers, showing up to fight a guy who had nearly killed Peter the night before, he was doing it in a dud suit. 

“You’ve got me here!” Harley put his arms out like he was some kind of pro wrestler stepping up to a challenge rather than a nineteen-year-old kid who had thrown, at most, three punches in his life. Peter felt like he was watching a car crash. “Are you done terrorizing high schoolers?” 

“Peter, you okay?” Peter looked at Tony and offered a reassuring grin. Physically, he was fine. Mentally, he was annoyed. Both with the situation, and with Harley, in front of him, playing dress-up.

“Dandy, Mr. Stark! Couldn’t be better.” Peter braced his hands against the insides of the rope. “Just hanging out with my buddy Kraven, totally of my own free will. Did you know that he kicks ass at poker? Wiped my ass clean. Not a dollar left to my name.”

“Shut up,” Tony and Kraven said at the same time. 

“Shutting up,” Peter said. 

Tony shot the first lazer. Before anyone quipped, before Kraven could monologue, before Harley could pretend to be Peter’s boyfriend or whatever the plan was. It subverted the normal flow. No wasting time, no joking around. It was almost disappointing. When chaos broke loose, Peter broke his bindings. He rolled backward, away from the breaking fight, back toward the wall. 

He had the perfect view when Harley raised his arm and pressed his fingers to his palm. Confidence was the key to this move, because while the web managed to hit  _ Peter _ , Kraven still flinched back.

“Watch it!” Peter shouted as his hand stuck to the wall behind him. He tugged, uselessly, in an attempt to pull away.

“Sorry, Pete!” Harley backed up as Kraven stepped toward him, weapon drawn. Peter dug in his pocket for the small canister of solvent he (tried) to keep on him at all times. He braced one foot against the wall and tugged. “Misfire!”

“You can’t aim  _ and  _ you brought a bodyguard,” Kraven said, still looking at Iron Man, weary. “I thought you’d be more formidable than that.” 

“You thought wrong, pal,” Harley assured. He watched Peter pull the solvent from his pocket. “I’m not really looking for lessons on it, though.” 

While Kraven was distracted, Peter sprayed the solvent on his hands. It pulled away sticky and with the consistency of a really cheesy pizza. It made him hungry.

“So what’s your problem today, man?” Harley asked. “You get stuck in traffic? Someone make fun of your outfit? It  _ is  _ pretty ridiculous.” 

“He didn’t make enough money taking pictures in Times Square,” Peter chipped in.

Harley fired another web. It went over Kraven’s shoulder and Peter had to duck to avoid it.

_ “Seriously?”  _

“Peter, get out of here!” It was Tony. Peter scrunched his nose up in a pout. 

“Get out of here, Peter,” he mocked under his breath as he made his way closer to the hole Tony had made in the wall. “This is way too high stakes for you, Peter. You can’t handle this kind of environment, Peter.” 

“I can hear you, you brat!” 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark!” He yelled back, only half-hearted. 

He sidled up just behind Harley.

Harley backed up further. His shoulders were high. His fingers shook where they were pressed to his palm. He was just a foot away from the hole in the wall. Peter stuck a foot out, just behind Harley. 

Harley tripped backwards, through the hole, right as Kraven’s blade swung at the air where his head would be. The attention of Tony and Kraven both shot to Peter. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Whoops! No control over my limbs. You know what it’s like to be a nerd.” he said. “Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave. It’s been a pleasure, really.” He shot a two-finger salute in Kraven’s direction and let himself fall backward, out of the building. 

He caught Harley with time to spare. Harley immediately clung to him. 

“Warning would have been nice!” Harley wheezed once they’d levelled out. His hand on Peter’s shoulder was a vice. 

“What the fuck was that?” Peter demanded instead of answering. He landed them in an alley. “You could have gotten killed!” 

Harley pulled the mask off. He looked like he was about to be sick, but that was probably related to the twenty-story free-fall he’d just taken. He pressed the mask into Peter’s hand and took a labored breath. 

“Someone needed to get you the suit,” he explained. He poked the spider-symbol on his chest and the suit expanded. 

“And you grabbed the retired one?” Peter pulled it over his head nonetheless. 

“Other one didn’t smell like you.” Harley stepped out of the suit clumsily. “Had to make it convincing.” 

“Don’t  _ ever  _ do that again,” Peter said. He pulled the suit on. “Do you have any idea how  _ hurt  _ you could have gotten? That guy’s trying to  _ kill  _ me--”

“Yeah, babe, I got that.” Harley’s hands were on his knees. His face was screwed up. 

“-- and this suit doesn’t have  _ nearly  _ the same amount of armor as the newer ones. What if you’d gotten hit? What if something had gone wrong?” 

“Can we talk about this later?” Harley asked. “Please? Tony’s up there alone right now buying time.” 

“Right,” Peter said. “Fine, yes.” He lifted the bottom of his mask up and pressed a kiss to Harley’s cheek. “I’ll see you in a little bit. Thank you for the suit.” 

Peter swung back into the building just in time to dodge a laser. 

“Sorry about that!” He called out as he fired a web at Kraven’s arm. “Had to save the intern and all that jazz. Where were we? Talking, possibly, about how kidnapping isn’t cool?” 

He dodged the sword that came for his arm. 

“Buddy, we really need to work on your anger issues!”

Kraven already looked singed. Tony had managed to do a number on him. Peter felt a little bit bitter about that-- he’d spent the past 3 days fighting the guy and hadn’t even managed to leave a bruise. 

He aimed for Kraven’s face and missed by inches. He aimed for his feet and underestimated his gait. Beneath the mask, Peter’s face twisted in frustration. He launched himself onto the ceiling. 

Peter wouldn’t win in a test of strength, and his agility was only good enough, it seemed, to run away. And that clearly wasn’t an effective strategy. He needed a plan that didn’t involve hand-to-hand combat, dodging, or hiding.

He watched Tony fly circles around him, and the idea struck him like lightning.

“Hey! Gimme a lift!” And Peter hurled himself at Tony. He clung to his shoulders like a koala, one arm wrapped around the neck of the iron suit. Tony only got thrown slightly off balance, and the severity of the curse words that came spewing out of his mouth were far less than Peter had anticipated. 

“Fly me around him!” Peter shouted into his ear. “I’ve got an idea.” 

Peter aimed for the chest, first-- a string of webs that wrapped around Kraven’s biceps, pinning them to his sides. He watched Kraven press the machete against the webs.

“We need to get that sword out of his hands,” he told Tony.

“On it!” 

The glove of Tony’s armor moved on its own. One second it was attached to the rest of the suit, the next it was pulling an incredibly sharp sword out of the hunter’s hand. When it clattered to the ground, Peter cheered.

“Booyah!” Peter pumped a fist. “Just keep spinning! I think I can take him down.” 

“Aren’t you getting  _ dizzy?”  _ Tony grumbled. Peter ignored him. He aimed for Kraven’s hands until they were stuck to his chest, too. Like a mummy. (and why didn’t Peter ever get to fight something  _ cool  _ like mummies). 

When Peter wrapped his feet, Kraven fell with a roar.

Peter jumped off of Tony as he landed beside the cocooned hunter.

“Free piece of advice,” Tony said, leveling the gauntlet of his armor with Kraven’s face, “Don’t fuck with the interns.” 

It wasn’t Tony who landed the final blow, though. It was Peter, from the side, who knocked him out with a kick to the head. It was an act of violence he’d normally try to avoid-- Kraven was already down and tied up, but Peter’s side still ached and he was tired and hungry, and Kraven had almost hurt both Tony and Harley, and Peter was heated. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he said, already working on fastening Kraven to the ground. He added five more layers than he thought he’d need. The last thing he wanted was another visit from the guy because he got up before the police managed to grab him and bring him to the Raft. He  _ still  _ hadn’t started Red Dead 2, and also he’d almost died, so he was pretty sick of this whole charade.

“Yeah, yeah. The power of teamwork, or whatever.” Tony sounded distracted.” “Are you hurt?” He asked. He pointed to where his eye would be under the mask. Peter waved his hand. 

“It’s just a bruise,” he said. “Barely feel it. Can we get out of here?” 

\--

“I ordered dinner,” Harley called when Tony and Peter trudged through the front door. Harley and Pepper were seated at the dinner table. There was a spread in front of them-- Thai food. Peter’s mouth watered. 

“I hope you guys didn’t break anything,” Pepper said. “I don’t want to have to deal with another civil suit.” 

Peter pictured the hole in the middle of the construction building.

“Think we can pin it on Gaston,” Tony said. “He’s halfway to The Raft anyway.” 

“He uses antlers in all of his decoooorating!” Harley crooned. 

“Antlers are too commercial for him,” Peter said. He hung his mask up on the coat rack. “It’s the skins of all the endangered animals he’s killed.”

“We’re eating,” Pepper reminded him. 

Peter winced. “Sorry.” He grabbed an eggroll and shoved it into his mouth whole. “Canchewfishtheothermesh?” he asked.

“Manners,” Tony said, flicking the back of Peter’s head. 

Peter swallowed the mass of eggroll and tried again. “Can you fix the other mess?” he repeated. 

“You mean Tony’s PR nightmare?” Pepper asked.

“The one and only.”

“I’m working on it,” Pepper said. She handed Peter a plate. “If I say let it die down, though…”

Peter pointed to his bruised eye. Pepper winced. “We’ll figure something out,” she promised. Then, “Did you still need help with that English paper?” 

“Huh?” Peter looked up from the heaping pile of noodles he had balanced on his fork. He was practically salivating. His pupils were huge. He was hungrier than he’d realized. 

“The paper you have to write about Moby Dick,” Tony reminded him. 

“The one you should have been working on all week,” Harley added, 

Peter’s chewing slowed. Right. The paper that was due Friday.

“Uh,” he said, voice pitched higher, “I’ll figure it out.” 

“Peter!” Pepper scolded. 

He put his hands up. “I know!” he said. “I know, but I’ve had some bigger fish to fry this week.”

“It’s actually about a whale,” Harley said. Peter glared at him 

“I’ll get the paper done,” he assured Pepper. “I’ll just… I’ll write it from the perspective of the whale.”

“You’ll what?” Tony asked. 

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll just talk about what it must be like to  _ be  _ the white whale. After all…” He motioned to himself. Harley groaned.

“Please don’t tell me that being hunted for sport has enlarged your ego,” he said, reaching over and stealing an eggroll off of Peter’s plate. Peter pouted at him. 

“It didn’t  _ shrink  _ it,” Peter said. “Besides, someone thinks I’m cool enough to try to kill. Isn’t that kinda exciting?”

“As exciting as driving across the city in the middle of the night to give you medical attention.” Peter winced. Harley’s expression was stiff. “Can you pass the lo mein, please?” he asked Pepper, not looking back at Peter. 

Dinner was mostly silent after that. 

\--

Harley dropped an ice pack in Peter’s lap. 

“It’s for your…” he pointed to his eye. Peter’s was purple and swollen. 

“Right.” Peter hummed and pressed it to his face. “Thanks.”

The bed dipped as Harley sat beside him. Peter stared at the space between them. Water dripped down the back of his neck. They were both silent-- the awkward kind of silence. One they weren’t accustomed to. 

“Hey,” Peter said. “Can we talk?” 

“Since when do you ask permission?” Harley asked, but Peter could hear the slight tremor in his voice. When Peter didn’t laugh, Harley cleared his throat and nodded.

Peter took a deep breath. “Last night… That’s going to happen. A lot, probably.”

Harley was still looking at him, eyes squinted, foot shaking where it hung off the edge of the bed. 

“I mean, not necessarily exactly like that, but, you know what I mean.” Peter shifted the hand holding the ice pack. “And I get that it can be… upsetting. And if you don’t want me to call you, that’s fine, I don’t have to, but I need to know that I’m not going to be freaking you out just by taking the hits that come with the job.” 

Harley’s eyebrows knit together. He opened his mouth, but Peter quickly added, “And you need to stop trying to bench me, too.” He worried his lip with his teeth. “I’m not the kind of person to sit back and watch just because things go south or I get hurt. I’m sorry if that bothers you, o-or if you--”

“It doesn’t  _ bother  _ me, Pete.” Harley let out a long breath. “It’s, like, the most prevalent part of your personality. If it bothered me, I wouldn’t be dating you in the first place.” He combed his hair back with his fingers. “I got really freaked out last night,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I was just… I hate not being able to help. I mean, I can make you the strongest suits, and I can stitch you up, but I can’t exactly…”

“Fight?” Peter supplemented. 

“Not without Tony banishing me back to Tennessee and nuking my lab,” Harley agreed. He shook his head and jumped back into the conversation with force. “But you can’t bench me, either,” he said, pointedly. He said it with a smile, though, aimed pointedly at Peter. “This--” and he motioned around them, “is a team effort, and I need you to trust me when I do something, not scold me ‘cause it scared you.”

“In my defense, you were wearing my suit,” Peter said, his tone light. And he’d been facing off against Kraven, with a sword far too close to his face, and he’d been in  _ danger--  _ Peter forced a tight-lipped smile. He took Harley’s hand in his own, laced their fingers together. 

“I’m not helpless,” Harley said. “You act like I’ve never even been in a fight before, Pete.”

“I know,” Peter said. “I’m sorry, I’m just… used to protecting people.” 

Most of the people he’d let in on his secret could hold their own-- not that Harley couldn’t, but most of them were people like Tony, or Rhodey who were more than capable of entering their own fights, or Happy whose entire job sometimes was getaway driver. The other people were May, or Ned, or Harley, or MJ, who weren’t helpless, but the idea of them being in danger made Peter feel sick. 

… But that came with the territory, too. 

“This is a partnership,” Harley said, his tone serious. “We protect each other.” He raised an eyebrow. “Right?” 

And even if Peter wanted to argue, he couldn’t have, because despite the dangers and the uncertainties, Harley felt safe. How could he not? Peter trusted him with his life every time he took a new suit out to patrol, every time they worked with dangerous chemicals in the lab, every time Harley handed him a weapon and said  _ here test this _ . 

The thought that Harley could hold his own just… worked. 

Peter nodded. “Right,” he said. “Of course. You and me.” 

And Peter could survive for weeks on the smile he got in return, especially when Harley wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders and pulled him down to the mattress in a convoluted hug. 

“I love you,” Harley said when they were situated. His mouth was right by Peter’s ear. 

Peter smiled. Felt heat in his cheeks. He closed his eyes and hummed. “I love you, too,” he said.

“You spending the night?” Harley asked. 

Peter re-adjusted. He rested his head on Harley’s shoulder and wrapped his arm around him. 

“Mmm… I haven’t seen May in two days,” he said, burrowing deeper into the mattress. “I should go home.”

“It’s late,” Harley said. “She’ll be asleep by now.” Peter could feel his lips move against the top of his head. 

Peter hummed. 

He ended up spending the night. He woke up tangled in the same blanket as Harley, his head awkwardly in the crook of his elbow. Harley was snoring beside him, his face squished into the pillow, the hair on the top of his head sticking up in random directions. He had one arm around Peter’s chest, still. 

Peter went back to sleep. He could afford to miss a day of school.

\--

They ended up going public. From the list of nearly 100 ideas (many of which were unusable from conception), the only outstanding ones were:

  * Send “Peter Parker” into the witness protection program (turned down for obvious reasons)
  * Fake a relationship between Spider-Man and one of the Avengers (turned down because Peter hadn’t forgotten how the media wouldn’t shut up when Thor made that joke that Spider-Man had a crush on him)
  * Have Tony tweet something just controversial enough for the internet to stop talking about Spider-Man (despite being one of the few reasonable ideas, Pepper turned this one down for being too much work for her)



(“How illegal is Peter and I’s relationship?” Harley asked abruptly while they were brainstorming. Peter made a sound in the back of his throat.

“Don’t word it like that,” Peter said. “It sounds worse than ‘you’re technically my employee.’”

“You’re not his employee,” Pepper corrected Peter. “He’s mine.”

“Fine-- how immoral is our relationship in corporate America?” Harley re-formatted.

“What are you thinking?” Pepper asked. She looked at him warily. She had a pen pressed against her bottom lip, one hand open flat on the notepad in front of her. 

“If Peter comes out about a relationship that could get him fired, maybe it would explain his silence about his supposed relationship with Spider-Man.” His own hand was spidered on the desk, pressed down to make a point. 

“We could fake legal paperwork,” Pepper said. “Make it official on the records--”

“Which is why we were waiting to mention it in the first place,” Harley agreed. “Peter could tweet about it like we just got the okay.” He looked at Peter. Peter glanced between them. Across the desk, Pepper regarded him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Sure. Let’s do it.”)

“How do you think the public’s gonna handle it?” Harley asked. They were both waiting for the news to drop. 

“Can I be honest?” Peter held his phone to one ear while moving chords around on the TV stand with the other. “I don’t want to know-- and I  _ really  _ don’t care.” 

That wasn’t true. He  _ did  _ care-- but he cared less about this than people connecting him to Spider-Man. He cared because this relationship was real, and breakable, and public opinion could maybe hurt it. But he didn’t care because it was Harley, and it was him, and that made it better. 

Spider-Man and Peter trending meant Peter was alone. 

Harley and Peter trending meant they could laugh at tweets together. They could turn off their phones and wait it out, and not have to worry about some villain catching wind of it. 

“Are you gonna keep an eye out, at least?” 

“Nope.” Peter popped his ‘p.’ “As soon as we hang up, I’m turning my phone off. The Tweet is queued, and I really don’t want to know when people see it.” 

Harley laughed. Peter heard the sound of a window opening.

“What are your plans for the night?” Harley asked. 

Peter dropped back, onto the couch. He balanced his phone between his ear and his shoulder and grabbed the controller from the table. He pushed the power button and watched it come to life. 

“Ah, you know,” he said, watching Red Dead Redemption 2 load. “Just hanging out.” 

“You’ll call me if you need anything?”

“Of course.” Peter put his feet up on the coffee table. Even though Harley couldn’t see him, he grinned. “Who else would I call?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harley said. “Spider-Man?” 

“I’ll hang up on you,” Peter threatened. 

“I actually  _ should  _ go,” Harley said. “I have a presentation on Monday I need to work on.” 

“Look at you,” Peter said, “a businessman.” 

“Only when Tony’s too lazy to do it himself,” Harley said, voice void of maliciousness. 

“You gonna wear a suit?” Peter asked, his voice lowering an octave. 

Harley laughed at his trashy attempt to be sexy. “I have to hang up, Pete. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Peter said. “Good luck. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me sooo long to write and I'm so excited to finally post it! If anyone wants to talk about these boys, or any other head canons you may have (or see the rabbles that I don't post on here)-- come talk to me on Tumblr @dredfulhapiness ! I also take fic requests!

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a single, long one-shot but I put a lot of time into the first half and was excited to post this (and also finally let the anon who requested it get to read it)
> 
> I'm still accepting fic requests on Tumblr, so you can feel free to reach out to me there @dredfulhapiness I'm also there for asks, questions, comments, concerns! ALSO, kudos and comments are always appreciated here as well.


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